To Make a Memory
by Batwynn
Summary: Christmas. It was just another day, wasn't it? Just an arbitrary point in time celebrated by millions of people because they were bored, and lonely, and cold. It didn't have to mean something to Tony, and it didn't. It didn't mean a thing.


Christmas. It was just another day, wasn't it? Just an arbitrary point in time celebrated by millions of people because they were bored, and lonely, and cold. It didn't have to mean something to him, and it didn't.

It didn't mean a thing.

The memories came unbidden after gnawing at the back of his mind all week. A medley of sights, sounds, even smells. It was a jumbled up mess of happy and sad. But at this point, even the good memories has turned sour and painful. Finally giving in to the assault on his mind, Tony Stark sat on the floor in his bedroom and remembered.

Maria Stark wasn't just his mother. She was a cook, a teacher, a worker, a charity runner, a wife, and so much more. Tony couldn't help but wonder how much better things would have been, if she hadn't been all of those things. It wasn't like he didn't see how wonderful she was at everything she did, he just wished that she had spent more time with him, and less time on everything else. Perhaps that was just his present self feeling selfish. It was easy to crave more time with someone when their time had run out so long ago. Tony never had enough time with her, and her alone. He found that his memories felt tainted by that solid, fierce presence of his father.

Christmas, 1978. Tony wasn't old enough to understand why his father wasn't there for Christmas dinner, he just knew his mother was upset about it. So he was upset about it too. They had more fun at that dinner than they ever did when Howard was there. The next morning, Tony woke up and ran to the living room like a normal kid. Only, he wasn't a normal kid, he was a Stark.

"Stop that running around the house!" Howard shouted from a chair in the living room. He was seated directly next to the Christmas tree, looking as though he had just returned home. Tony froze mid step, already wary of his father's mood.

"Sorry…"

"'I'm sorry' means you will never do it again. Do you promise to never run in the house again?"

Tony considered it seriously, before deciding to lie. "Yes."

Howard was out of his chair in a second, grabbing Tony by the collar of his pajamas and hoisting him back down the hall. Tony let out a yelp of surprise and looked back at the receding Christmas tree in dismay.

Howard nearly threw him into his room and stood in the doorway, ever the dominating presence.

"You will not lie to your father," he warned, crossing his arms. "No child should show his father such disrespect. I thought I taught you better than this."

Tony stood, shaking slightly with an irrational fear of being hit. His father had never struck him before, but there was a first time for everything.

"I'm sorr—"

"Liar," Howard snapped. He shifted slightly closer and Tony lost all control of his body, and flinched. His father's face shifted from anger to discomfort at the sight.

There was a long silence where Tony simply stared at his father's knees.

"You will stay in here for the rest of the day," his father commanded.

Tony began to protest but faltered quickly at the look his father gave him.

"You will learn to respect me, and you will remember that a Stark has Iron in their backbones."

The memory drew to a close with the sharp click of the door shutting behind Howard Stark.

Tony took a hearty swig of the bottle he had brought into his room with him. He wasn't even sure what he was drinking anymore, just that it was nearly gone. He grunted at the familiar burn of alcohol down his throat. It was a 30 year old burn that started not long after his mother's death.

There was that Christmas too, if you could call it a Christmas. The Christmas after her death.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Out," Tony snapped in response, pulling on his leather coat as he heading for the door. "Somewhere with less you."

"I do not want you out painting the town red with your—"

"I don't give a fuck what you want," Tony interrupted, sending his father a heated glare. "I'm going out."

And that was that. Howard deflated, leaning back into his chair as if all the life had drained out of him. Tony glanced back as the door closed behind him, and realized he was in the same chair as that Christmas morning. Only this time, it was dark, there was no tree, and Howard Stark was all alone.

There were Christmases after that and they were good or bad. Some spent with Pepper, others alone.

This was the first year in a while he was alone. At first, he reveled in it. Drink as much as he wanted, sing as loud as he wanted, set something on fire, run naked through the house. But as the sun bleed away into Christmas Eve, Tony felt none of his earlier elation. He was alone, and that wasn't okay.

He took another long swig and realized that was the last of it. He stared at the bottle for what felt like hours before he managed to stand up and lurch out of the bedroom. The tower was dark, Tony never bothering to turn the lights on even as it grew late. Jarvis new better than to do anything without asking on days like this. Tony's drink-soaked brain wondering if maybe he wasn't so alone. Jarvis was always there for him.

But Jarvis couldn't hold him, or fuck him for that matter. Tony grumbled to himself as an old ache grew in his chest. It wasn't as old as the burn, but it hurt just as much. This ache had a name too, and its name was Loki.

Loki, the god of assholery, good puns, and evil pranks. Silver tongue, and sharp wit. Loki, adopted brother of Thor, and Tony Stark's missing fiancé.

Missing was one way of putting it. Another might be, 'he ran the fuck away'. At least, that's what it seemed like to Tony. They had been engaged for two months before it happened. The Fight.

"You may have been some high and mighty god to a bunch of flea-bitten northern pirates back in the good old days, but you're no god of mine!" Tony yelled, quite loudly, into Loki's face. The moment he said it, he realized that he was wrong. Loki was his god. Maybe Tony was just as flea bitten as the rest of Loki's worshipers.

"Oh, so those are your true feelings?" Loki responded calmly. It wasn't the empty calm of an unworried person, it was the cold calm of a phsyco killer ready to pounce.

Tony tried to back track. "I didn't mean it like that. I mean you can't keep going around expecting me to bend and scrape to grant your every wish. I have woke to do too."

"Are you telling me what I can't do, Stark?"

The revert to his last name made him flinch. He hadn't heard it from the god's lips in years.

"I'm asking you to—"

"No," Loki interrupted, suddenly invading his space. The calm was long gone. "No, I think you are trying to tell me what to do. Tony Stark, the billionaire mortal, telling a thousand year old god. What. To. Do."

"Loki," Tony nearly whimpered, "that's not what I'm saying. I'm asking you to be more patent. I can't always be there for you."

Loki stared at him quietly after this, his eyes flickering between Tony's as if reading his thoughts.  
After several minutes, he spoke in a softer voice, "Then what is the point of this marriage? If you cannot be here for me always and forever, why should we make vows to do just that?"

Tony's mouth dropped open. That was taking his meaning and twisting it so far out of proportion it wasn't even in the same time zone.  
"You have to be kidding me. Why the fuck would you think I want that?!"

"Your words, Stark, not mine."

A soft crackle like a dying fire and Loki was gone. He stayed gone.

Tony stumbled straight into the living room and over the back of the couch before he realized he was actually in the living room. He stayed there, face down in the cushions with his butt up in the air over the back of the couch. It was as undignified as Tony felt. Perfect.

He started to feel nauseous, hanging upside down like that. So he slithered the rest of his body over the couch and ended up sliding right off again. He hit the cold floor with a grunt, noticing a second too late that his nose was about to get crushed. It hurt a lot less than I should have. Probably all the alcohol. A bell tolled midnight somewhere far away from the tower.

"Merry Christmas…" he muttered to himself, and his nose began to bleed. Well wasn't this pathetic; an all time low for Tony Stark. Laying on the floor in the dark on Christmas, bleeding.

There was a sound. Tony thought about what the sound was, but couldn't place it. Ice? Crumpling paper? Who was crumpling paper in the dark on Christmas while he was bleeding?

"Stark…"

Tony's brain trudged on, still trying to pin point the sound. It wasn't until cold hands turned him over that he realized someone had spoke.

"Who are you and why are you crumpling paper at me?" Tony asked in what he hoped was a threatening voice "It's Christmas, you know."

"I know what day it is, Stark. It's some plebeian holiday you mortals celebrate when you're bored and cold."

Mortals? Plebeian?

"Loki?"

"None other," Loki replied smoothly, helping him sit up. In the faint light of the reactor, Tony could see snow flakes dotting Loki's hair.  
Loki was frowning at him, asking in a worried voice, "What have you done to yourself? You're bleeding."

"I decided the floor needed redecorating."

Loki chuckled softy, his hands still firmly on Tony's shoulders. "So you decided to use your face?"

"It was the only thing I had on hand," Tony joked back, feeling a smile creep up on him. It was so easy to fall back into pace with Loki.

"Tony…"

The switch back to his nickname gave him the same reaction as before. He twitched.

"Tony, you're pissing drunk."

"What gave it away?"

"Honestly? The smell." Loki replied, his nose wrinkling.

"I'll have you know," Tony said, leaning closer to purposely breath on Loki's face, "that I smell like roses."

"Roses soaked in whiskey."

"Was that what I drinking?" Tony pondered out loud. Tony frowned and looked at Loki properly for the first time. "You're back."

"I am back."

"Why are you back?"

Loki's smile slipped a little, growing more sad. "I returned because this is my home and you are my mortal."

Tony stared at him, his overstimulated brain catching up far too slowly. "You're back for good?"

"I am here to stay." Loki's eyebrows drew together in worry, hastily adding, "if you wish me to."

"I wish you to. I wish you to very much."

Loki's hand was suddenly touching his already swollen nose, and a second later is was as good as new. Now that the injury was gone, Tony realized how much it actually hurt.

"Thanks," he mumbled weakly, trying not to sound sulky.

"Of course," Loki responded, one more slipping his arms over Tony's shoulders. "Why… why were you on the floor, drunk, and bleeding?"

"I was bored, and lonely, and cold."

Loki pulled him right into his lap and leaned against the couch, creating a blanket for them out of thin air. It felt so natural to be snuggled against him, it was as if no time had passed at all.

Loki let out a huff of amusement. "Well, you aren't any more, are you?"

Tony curled up closer to the familiar body under him and closed his eyes.

"No, I'm good now," he said quietly, and made a mental note to run through the house naked with Loki next year.


End file.
